


Fragments

by BeeWrites



Category: Septimus Heap - Angie Sage
Genre: Amnesia, And Sep needs more friends, Angst, Because the girl deserves much better than she got, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Fix-It of Sorts, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Memory Loss, Other, This is basically me redoing Syrah's fate after Syren, maybe more? - Freeform, set after Syren but before Darke, we'll see where this goes, what else?, who knows - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-14
Updated: 2018-06-14
Packaged: 2019-05-23 10:18:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,437
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14932371
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BeeWrites/pseuds/BeeWrites
Summary: Time is an odd thing. It flows like a river, splitting and changing paths at every turn. If you look at it one way, there are a million possibilities, an unthinkable number of what-ifs, of paths that were irrevercably changed by one small, minor difference. This is one of them.After the Isle of Syren, Syrah Syara was left in a magykal coma. And then, she woke up.





	Fragments

**Author's Note:**

> This is for everyone who, like me, thought Syrah really got the short end of the stick after all she'd been through and really deserved much better than to be put in a magical coma for literally until the end of the series after she was so fleshed out in Syren.

At first, she felt nothing, like a feather floating in the air. Slowly, consciousness came back to her, bits and pieces of thoughts whizzing past too fast for her to fully retain the meaning. In the back of her mind was a nagging feeling, like there was something… urgent? Important? Something that she should know, but it felt as if, just as she was about to grasp the thought, was just an inch from reaching it, it flitted away and left behind nothing but dismay and a growing sense of unease.

 

As she wrestled herself out of the mist that seemed to permeate every corner and crevice of her mind, she steadily became aware of a brightness shining onto her closed eyelids. She cracked them a fraction and immediately regretted it, shutting them again. Whatever this light was, wherever she was, it was much too bright for her liking. She wished to raise a hand in front of her face, to shield her poor eyes from the onslaught of brightness, but found she could hardly move it. The thought finally startled her into full wakefulness.

 

Her eyes shot open, immediately stinging from the damned brightness. She groaned and winced, pain shooting through her sore throat. Suddenly she became aware of all of her body, a stiffness like she’d been still for far too long than was healthy felt in every limb and muscle, like when she’d spend her night hunched over..a book. Yes, a book, because… because… something was happening soon? She should know, shouldn’t she? The fragment of a memory felt very familiar, as if she’d been through that event many times. So, she should remember, but like all her previous recollections the memory was out of her grasp as soon as she thought of it.

 

She was beginning to find her lack of knowledge… no, her lack of memory quite alarming. She should call someone for help, anyone. She opened her mouth again and attempted to call out, but again her voice caught. This time, she managed to twitch a hand to her throat, though it landed there with a clumsy smack. Gods, she was thirsty.

 

She had to get up, find someone and find out what happened, why everything hurt and why her mind was in shambles.

 

After three unsuccessful attempts, she managed to heave herself up into a sitting position. She noted the source of the brightness, a window left open with the blinds pulled back, letting in the full front of the sun. She turned her stiff neck, observing the rest of the room.

 

The pentagonal room was overly bright, like someone had taken white paint to every available surface. Surprisingly, the light had a blue tinge. How odd. The room held a few small, cocoon like white cots that seemed to be suspended by some sort of branches, the only source of actual color in the strange room. Aside from the cots, the room was devoid of any other furniture or people, the silence and sterile atmosphere of it all doing nothing to calm her down.

 

Now that the adrenaline that had awoken her was making its way out of her system, she was beginning to feel a tad dizzy. There was an odd, heady smell to the room, and it felt almost as if there was a very gentle wind moving counter clockwise. All of these together had the effect of almost a drunken haze on her, making her desire to leave the room even greater.

 

She turned, letting her legs dangle above the white marble floor for a moment as she gathered her strength, before she pushed herself off of the overly soft white cot and onto the hard white floor. And immediately screamed.

 

It felt as if every inch of her body was being pierced with a thousand white hot needles, an all consuming pain washing away any form of previous thought. Dimly, she was aware that she’d collapsed onto the floor and was now curled in the fetal position, but the majority of her remaining thought process was occupied with not throwing up from the pain.

 

She focused on breathing through her nose, small slow breaths as to not make the nausea worse. Slowly, the pain began to subside, leaving her feeling drained and sore, as if she’d just been in a fist fight and lost horribly. She became aware of a voice speaking to her gently. Laboriously, she turned her head towards the direction of the voice, finding herself staring at two pairs of boots, one a practical white pair, while the other pair were pointy and very _purple_. 

 

Her brain finally supplying the information that, oh, she should probably look up towards the shoes’s owners, she tilted her head back and blinked at the two woman, who seemed just as surprised as she felt.

 

“Wh-” her voice cracked and she winced, her throat now feeling more sore than ever “What?” she managed finally, which generally summed up her thoughts since waking up rather nicely.

 

The one in white, an older woman in blue robes and a white coat smiled gently, in a manner that suggested everything was fine and there was no need to panic.

 

“Hello dear, it seems you’ve taken quite a tumble. Patients generally should not touch the ground immediately after coming out of  **DisEnchantment** , as  the reconnecting with solid ground can be painful if not done slowly. But I'm sure you've learned that in your studies already.”

 

Gently, as if she was made of spun glass, the friendly woman put a hand on her back “Do you think you can sit up, ...?” she glanced towards the other woman, shooting her a questioning look.

 

“Syrah” said the woman in purple, finally kneeling down beside them, her startling green eyes sparkling and face unreadable.

 

Slowly sitting up, the woman in blue supporting her back, she looked at the woman in purple with a frown.

 

“What’s a syrah?”

 

This question seemed to take both women aback, the one in purple leaning back on her heels and the one in blue gasping and touching the back of her head carefully.

 

“Did you hit your head when you fell? Does it hurt?”

 

She considered the question for a moment “I don’t think so, and no, it doesn’t hurt more than any other part of me.”

 

The two women exchanged worried glances. The one in blue put a hand on each of her elbows and carefully pulled her into a standing position. Immediately, the room spun and she swayed and would have fallen, had a strong pair of purple clad arms not caught her. 

 

With the aid of both women, they left the strange room and entered a dimly lit, round room with beds arranged in a clockwise pattern. She was steered towards the nearest bed and made to sit. She looked around the room, it being mostly empty, save for an older man laying in a bed across the room eyeing her with interest and a young brown haired girl at a desk, who was gaping at her open mouthed, giving the girl the striking resemblance of a fish.

 

Blushing, now feeling physically well enough to feel embarrassed for the scene she caused, she gave the girl a small wave. The girl’s eyes grew impossibly wider, making her face look overall even more fish-like, before she shot up from her seat and made a run for the other set of doors like the devil himself was at her heels.

 

Before she could question the strange reaction, there was a cup of cool water being held in front of her face and all previous thoughts were put on the back burner as she clumsily grabbed the glass and chugged the glass of water greedily. Finishing the drink, she held the glass out to be refilled, which it was. After half of the pitcher in the woman in blues hands was empty, she felt much better, though her head was just as foggy as before.

 

She looked at the woman in purple expectantly.

 

“So, who, or what, is a syrah?”

 

The women looked at eachother again, seeming to have a nonverbal argument. The one in blue sighed in defeat and looked at her with a kind, grandmotherly face.

 

“You are. That is to say, you’re Syrah. Syrah Syara.”

 

She laughed “No, I think I’d remember if I had a silly name like that. I’m…” she trailed off, a frown crossing her face. With a horrified expression, she looked at the women, the nausea from before coming back full force as her stomach did a flip.

 

_ “Who am I?” _

**Author's Note:**

> OK, so I'm not 100% sure where I'm going with this story in the long run, but I do have a general outline in my head at the moment for at least a good 4-5 more chapter. This is shorter than my usual chapter length, especially for a first chapter, but I've got a final tomorrow and inspiration picked the worst possible time to strike. Chapter 2 will be longer.


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